


Tea And Dinosaurs

by Thistlerose



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-17
Updated: 2010-06-17
Packaged: 2017-10-10 04:05:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Jim's distress, there's still no cure for the common cold, even in 2258.  Fortunately, he has a very indulgent CMO.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea And Dinosaurs

The decongestants kick in so swiftly and hit so hard that it's probably some sort of medical phenomenon. Honest to God, one moment Jim's going on about M stars in the Large Magellanic Cloud, and the next he's saying – with difficulty, because his throat's still sore and his nasal passages are still full of gunk – "But you know what would be _really_ awesome, Bones? A planet with dinosaurs. That's what I wanna find before I retire. A dinosaur planet. Wouldn't that be awesome?"

Schooling his expression, McCoy turns away from the replicator. He sets the steaming tea – mint, sweetened with a generous dollop of honey – on Jim's nightstand and says, "I guess that would be pretty awesome." Ordinarily, he'd offer his true opinion on the likelihood of finding a planet inhabited by giant lizards from Earth's past, but Jim's looking up at him all bleary-eyed and red-nosed, and something must really be wrong with McCoy because he just doesn't have the heart.

Jim reaches for the tea, but McCoy waves his hands away, tells him to wait a minute for the porcelain to cool. Jim sighs and leans back against his pillows. "I can't believe," he says, "you haven't found a cure for the common cold yet." Like it's McCoy's responsibility or something.

"Sorry," Bones says dryly, hitching his ankle around Jim's desk chair and dragging it a little closer to the bed. He sits down, resting his forearms on his thighs and lacing his fingers. "Been kinda busy."

"With _what?_"

"Keeping you alive, for one thing."

"Oh." Jim appears to dwell on that for a moment. Then he gives McCoy a weak, very lop-sided grin. "Yeah, I guess that's important too."

"Feeling better?"

"Little bit."

"Good. Try the tea."

Jim wraps his fingers around the cup's handle and lifts it slowly, carefully. "Ow," he hisses.

"Too hot still?"

"No, just – m'wrist hurts."

"Hurts how?"

"Just…aches."

"You might have a touch of the flu too," McCoy tells him. "Sorry."

"Fuck," mutters Jim, cradling his tea. "I'm the captain. I can't be sick."

"I assure you," says McCoy, "you can."

"_Fuck_."

"No. At least, not for a few days, I'd say."

Jim gives him a look that's half murderous, half…he doesn't know what. Usually, McCoy has no trouble reading the thoughts that flicker across those blue eyes. When Jim's sick and doped up on cold medication, what he can possibly be thinking is anyone's guess. It would stump a Vulcan, McCoy's sure.

Jim sips his tea. "Tell me a story."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Jim, you're twenty-five, not five. You don't need a goddamn bedtime story, and you certainly don't want to hear one from me. They're all bad, trust me."

Over the rim of his teacup, Jim cocks an eyebrow at him. "Prove it. And put a dinosaur planet in it," he continues, like he's already won this round of Let's See How Far I Can Push My CMO. "You can make it a short one, I don't care. I think I'm going to be asleep soon, anyway." His eyelids actually start to droop as he says this, and McCoy shakes his head because he knows when he's lost and Jim's won, and fuck it.

"Once upon a time," he begins.

"And don't make it some girly fairy tale," Jim interrupts. "I just want dinosaurs. In space."

"Once upon a fucking time," McCoy barks, and Jim gives this snort that would almost be a giggle if he weren't such a masculine guy ninety-five percent of the time. (The other five percent is when he's lying all limp and drowsy in McCoy's arms after a round of scorching sex, and he just starts whispering poetry. Shakespeare or Donne or who the fuck ever. It's weird and romantic, especially when his breaths are still coming fast and short, and he's just sort of mouthing the words against the shell of McCoy's ear, and thinking about it right now really isn't helping.)

"Once upon a time," McCoy says for a third and final time, "there was this captain. He was pretty damn smart and pretty damn pretty, so people tended to forgive him when he acted like a real asshole. Which was often."

"I don't think I like this story."

"I warned you. But you'll like it. There are dinosaurs. This captain – Captain Smirk – traveled all over the galaxy. He visited many planets, including one with dinosaurs. See?"

"All right."

"Drink your damn tea. So, Captain Smirk has lots of adventures, but he never listens to his CMO, so he contracts every goddamn disease known to man and plenty that aren't and he loses his looks and his dick falls off."

Jim shoots up like a spring, splashing tea all over the blankets. "_What_?"

"Oh, good God." Ignoring Jim's protests, his insistence that he can't leave it there, McCoy doesn't say another word until the half-empty teacup is safely on the nightstand and the wet blankets have been replaced with dry ones. "Shit, I'm sorry, Jim," he says finally as he reclaims his seat. "That was stupid. You're excitable—"

"What happens next?" Jim demands, his voice low and scratchy. His eyes are feverishly bright, his cheeks flushed.

"Shh. Lie down and I'll tell you."

When Jim's head is back on the pillow and the blankets are tucked around his shoulders, McCoy continues. "Fortunately, Captain Smirk's long-suffering CMO was competent enough. And forgiving enough. He reattached his dick and saved his looks, and everyone learned their lesson. The end."

"You forgot the sex," Jim wheezes into his pillow, his eyes half-closed.

"And after they learned their lesson, they screwed each other's brains out. _Now_ the end."

"You're right. Your stories are bad. But I like 'em."

"Well, you're crazy. And drugged. Go to sleep, Jim. I'll check up on you after my shift."

"Promise?"

"I promise." McCoy pushes the chair back. Leaning over the bed, he strokes an errant lock of hair away from Jim's forehead and kisses him.

"You'd still love me if I lost my looks," Jim mumbles. It's not a question.

"Yeah."

"What if I lost my dick?"

"We'll just have to keep that from happening, won't we?"

"You like my dick." He's just a shade too sleepy to sound smug.

McCoy smiles. "I love your dick. You know what that means?"

"I should always listen to my CMO."

"Damn right. Go to sleep, Jim. Dream about dinosaur planets." McCoy bends to kiss him again. By the time he rises, Jim's snoring.

7/08/09


End file.
